


learn to beg and learn to say please

by likecharity



Category: British Comedy RPF, Just Puddings (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, BDSM, Begging, Blushing, Clothed Male Naked Male, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Embarrassment, First Time Bottoming, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, In Public, Inappropriate Erections, Kink Exploration, M/M, Mild S&M, Public Hand Jobs, Revelations, Shame, Teasing, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation, all of these tags make it sound more intense than it is, it's mostly just about horny idiots falling in love, psychological rather than physical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: Ed takes James to a restaurant and orders his food for him, and then everything gets a bit out of hand."Jesus," he hears himself mutter. "This really does it for you, huh?"James winces, tipping his head back against the mirror and then turning it to the side shyly, his eyes shut tight.





	learn to beg and learn to say please

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe I genuinely thought I was gonna manage to make this a reasonable length? I should know myself better.
> 
> A quick warning: there's a slight chance that some parts of this MIGHT come across as dubcon, just because I wrote entirely from Ed's POV to make things easier for myself, and James isn't always making it 100% clear that he's up for it. The kink is definitely under-negotiated; they just kinda throw themselves into it without discussion, which I'm aware is not a great idea. I just feel like I should mention this in case you happen to be particularly sensitive to these things. But I did try and have them communicate as much as seemed realistic! And rest assured that whenever James is making a fuss it's just because he can't deal with how turned on he is.
> 
> The title is from 'Lick the Pavement' by Garbage, or at least I thought it was until I double-checked just now and discovered I've been mishearing that lyric for years. But I like it better this way so it's staying!

Ed has always secretly suspected James might be a tad submissive in the bedroom, ever since he first gave the matter any thought. Initially, he just made the assumption based on James's awkwardness about sex. It was difficult to imagine him having the confidence to take charge, so Ed figured he must wait for girls to make the first move (and then he actually saw that happen a couple of times, which strengthened the theory). Gradually he learned about all of the leftover guilt James harbours from his Christian upbringing, and that became evidence as well. Of course, he's never actually _said_ that it affects his sex life, but Ed can't see how it wouldn't; he seems to feel guilty about most things that bring him pleasure, so Ed has drawn his own conclusions. It makes sense that James might want someone else to take the lead just so that he feels less responsible.

For a little while Ed managed to fool himself that he was only interested in James's sex life because it was such a mystery. James didn't like to talk about it, so surely it was only natural for Ed to be curious. Any tiny crumb of detail that James happened to drop just made Ed hungry for more.

But Ed's never been very good at trying to trick his own mind, so it didn't take long for him to realise that the source of all that curiosity was a desire to sleep with James himself. This realisation wasn't really an issue—it was just a moment of _oh, well, that makes sense,_ and then he felt a bit foolish for not recognising it straight away. But he didn't feel bad about it. He allowed himself to admire certain qualities of James's on occasion, let his thoughts drift in that direction every now and then, because he didn't really see the point in trying to suppress his desires. He figured there was no harm in fantasising, as long as it didn't interfere with their friendship. And it didn't. Not for a long time.

And then he started telling James what to eat and how to eat it, and something changed. _James_ changed. He went all quiet and calm and deferential, and Ed couldn't say why but it made him want to fuck him so badly that he could hardly think.

It was the format of Just Puddings, really, that required him to boss James around, and he was vaguely surprised by how easily that came to him, how right it felt. But what he really hadn't anticipated was how James would respond to it. James just sank into his role effortlessly, letting Ed tell him exactly what to do, even asking permission before doing anything of his own accord. They fell head-first into the dynamic, like it had been there all along. 

Maybe it _had_ been there all along, somewhere under the surface, so subtle that Ed had failed to notice. It felt like it made sense, when he looked back over their years of friendship. It was like it was this dormant thing that just needed a certain set of circumstances in order to show itself. And once it had, Ed couldn't help playing with it. It was addictive. It didn't take long for him to try bringing his Just Puddings persona outside of the show. They filmed so rarely, and he was longing to see that side of James more often, so he started asking James to describe what he was eating at parties or out for meals with other friends. He acted like it was a joke, but really he just wanted an excuse to see James change before his eyes, see him shift back into that strangely docile version of himself for as long as Ed could stretch it out without causing suspicion.

He just _likes_ it so much. He finds it so heart-achingly attractive that he doesn't, honestly, know quite how to deal with it, and that means that his feelings for James _have_ become an issue. It's only complicated by the fact that he could swear James is having some pretty similar feelings. There's a peculiar tension crackling between them whenever they slip into these roles, and he's pretty sure he's reading it right. Ever since that first episode of Just Puddings, there's been something different about their friendship. Sometimes he wonders if it's merely a result of him spending a lot more of his time thinking about what James might look like naked and what other sort of commands he might respond to. But he's sure that he can feel something from James in return; a nervous excitement when Ed decides to throw an order his way, a look in his eyes like he's caught himself thinking about something he feels he shouldn't.

For too long now, they've been dancing around it, and it's driving Ed up the wall, if he's honest. The only time he gets a break from it is when he and James are alone together, because that's the only time it doesn't happen. It's as if they both recognise that doing it when they're alone would signify something that they wouldn't be able to ignore. They might be able to pretend like it's innocent when they're among others, but if it were just the two of them, it would be a different story. James probably feels safe playing around the way they have been, because he knows it can't ever go too far. It's just an assumption, but Ed prides himself on being skilled at reading James, and so he respects this imagined boundary. The urges are still there, of course, ever-present these days, but Ed keeps them in check. He toes the line, edging close but never stepping over. It feels like the right thing to do, is all. The sensible thing.

For a while, anyway.

He doesn't know exactly what changes. Maybe he just loses his patience. Maybe he can't put up with the tension anymore. Maybe he has an idea, and it nags at him and nags at him until he decides to put it into practice just so he can stop _thinking_ about it all the time. Tonight it's just the two of them, and he's brought James out to a restaurant, and he's going to order his food for him and see how he likes _that._

He's decided on such a tactic because, while it's fairly blatant, they'll still be in a public place, so hopefully James won't feel threatened. Nevertheless, it's going to be very clear that Ed is stepping over that line they've silently created together. James will have to react in some way, and if he reacts positively, Ed will know that he's not imagining things, and he'll also know that maybe the line was only ever there because of anxiety and uncertainty and perhaps, once they've both made it clear how they feel, they can finally erase it. Sometimes, when he's feeling particularly self-indulgent, he wonders if James has actually always been waiting for Ed to make such a move. 

And if James reacts negatively—well, Ed tries to tell himself, that's no great loss. If James indicates in some way that he thinks Ed is out of line, then Ed will have to accept that he's just been reading too much into the whole thing. At least then he'll be able to move on. Of course, it's not the outcome he's hoping for, but it'll still be closure. Ed can't deal with the way things are between them anymore, the constant tension, the unanswered questions. He has to do _something._

Ed's first move is to take James's coat for him. He hasn't actually planned to do this, but once they're shown to their table James starts to shrug out of it and Ed instinctively jumps towards him and takes over. It just feels right. James looks at him questioningly, but he lets him do it and even looks a little flushed, though that could be due to the cosy warmth of the restaurant when they've just come in from the cold.

Ed drapes James's coat over the back of his chair and then wordlessly pulls out the chair for him. James hesitates like he's waiting for Ed to make a joke or give some explanation for his behaviour, but Ed just smiles like he's not doing anything out of the ordinary, and all James can do is sit. Ed gives his shoulders a little squeeze and then goes to take his own seat opposite, busying himself with removing his own coat and making himself comfortable. If James is going to say anything right away he doesn't get a chance, because at that moment a waitress comes over to give them their menus and ask if they want anything to drink. 

As soon as she's gone, James gives Ed a searching sort of a look, but Ed just says, "I'm so glad we've finally come here," and picks up his menu. He skims the page, looking at James out of the corner of his eye and waiting for him to do the same.

"Yeah," says James after a distracted moment, following Ed's lead. "Yeah, me too, it's—we've been talking about it for ages."

They have a habit of going through the menu together, talking about what they might order, and Ed's planning to use that to his advantage. He doesn't want to end up ordering James the exact same thing he was planning on getting anyway—where's the fun in that? He could, of course, just pick something James would never choose for himself, and he has to admit there's something oddly tempting about the idea. Maybe it's because he somehow knows, in his gut, that even if James were disappointed and confused and maybe even annoyed at Ed for choosing it, he would eat it anyway, and Ed would get a strange pleasure from watching him do so. 

But he wants James to be in a good mood tonight. He wants him to _enjoy_ this. He really does think this is something James is into. Maybe James just doesn't quite realise it himself, and Ed will be able to help him explore it. He lets hope bloom quietly inside of him. This could be—this could be _fun_. What they've been doing already is fun, of course, but the awkwardness that surrounds it because it's undefined makes it a lot less so. And, god, if Ed _isn't_ imagining things, if they really are both attracted to each other, what are they doing spending all of their time in restaurants anyway? It's madness.

Neither of them is in the mood for a starter, which makes Ed's job a little easier. James expresses interest in a few different main options before finally deciding on a pasta dish, and Ed is so busy paying attention to everything he's saying that he almost forgets he has to pick something for himself as well. He sees their waitress approaching and selects a rather boring-sounding aubergine dish at the last second, distracted by the way his heart is pounding in his chest. This shouldn't feel so nerve-wracking, really; it's only ordering James's food for him. Divorced from context, it's not much of anything. An odd thing to do, perhaps, especially unprompted, but Ed can only see it for what it really is: a proposition.

He starts speaking the second the waitress reaches the table, which is maybe rude, because she's bringing them their water and hasn't even asked for their orders yet, but Ed can't wait. Talking a little too fast, he orders the aubergine thing for himself, and then, before James has a chance to say anything, he adds, "And he'll have the grilled sea bass, with the edamame."

Now that he's said the words out loud he feels as if he's being outrageously inappropriate. He has to fight the urge to say something like "That's what you wanted, isn't it, James?" to make it sound less weird, even though the waitress is just nodding and he knows she probably doesn't give a shit. He's so aware of the significance of what he's saying, what it means to him (and hopefully to James as well) that it's difficult to look at it objectively. It feels like something obviously deviant. 

He keeps his cool, however, and manages to pick out a bottle of wine for them to share. Then, finally, he allows himself a look at James, desperate to see his reaction to this unexpected turn of events. James looks stunned. His eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly open, and he's just sort of looking into the middle distance. In fact, his face is oddly blank—until he notices that Ed is looking at him, and then his eyes shift and that vague expression changes in an instant, narrows into something that quite frankly knocks Ed for six. All of a sudden there's this heated focus in his gaze, and it's all directed at Ed, and he's properly blushing now, his cheeks all rosy-pink. Just as Ed is admiring the flush, thinking how it suits him, he _bites his lip_ , and that makes Ed quite simply tune everything else out for a few seconds.

He realises belatedly that their waitress is repeating his order back to him, and shakes himself, returning to his senses. "Yeah, that's right, thank you," he says distractedly. He still can't quite drag his eyes away from James.

The waitress repeats James's order as well, and Ed watches, heart thundering in his chest, as James holds Ed's eye contact and nods vehemently. And they both know full well that it's not what James was planning on having, so the fact that James has so enthusiastically agreed, while looking—like _that_ —that has to mean something. Surely, surely it means something.

The waitress leaves, and Ed didn't really think about this part, and for a moment he's at a loss. James seems self-conscious; he runs a hand through his hair and then takes a large gulp of water, seemingly just for something to do. It goes down the wrong way and he coughs loudly, his cheeks going even brighter as he turns away from the table, fist over his mouth. He recovers quickly but then he's fidgeting with his napkin, his eyes all shifty. 

Ed feels like he has to say something. "Problem?" is what he ends up going with, keeping his voice light and casual as he fixes James with a look. He's aiming for innocent, but despite his best efforts it's probably coming out wicked.

James looks up at him, startled. He clears his throat once more. He looks so flushed, and so flustered, and Ed can't get enough of it. "No," he says eventually, slow and deliberate. "No problem."

Ed smiles at him because he can't help it; it's an instantaneous reaction. "Good," he says, his voice measured too. "That's very good," he adds, and gets a flicker of an embarrassed smile from James in return, which makes his heart flip over in his chest. 

They sit there in awkward silence for a few moments and James can't look him in the eye for longer than a half-second; he keeps glancing around at the rest of the diners, fiddling with things, sipping his water. But he doesn't seem uncomfortable, exactly—it's more like he's _excited_. He can't sit still and he's chewing on his bottom lip again which is really beginning to drive Ed mildly crazy.

He didn't think about what it would be like if James _did_ seem game. All right, he did think about it, rather a lot, mostly at night and naked, but—he didn't give nearly enough thought to how it might make him _feel_ , seeing James like this. He didn't anticipate the rush of power it would bring, something as simple as ordering James's food, removing that choice from him. 

James looks like he's about to start tearing his napkin into little pieces.

"Stop fidgeting," says Ed, without even really meaning to. It just comes out, and maybe it's an unfair thing to say, when he's the one who's put James in such a state, but—

"Okay," says James instantly, his voice small and meek, like it gets sometimes when Ed gives him orders. Ed feels hot all over as James goes still, and then it's _Ed's_ turn to start shifting in his seat.

He wants to say _fuck, James_. He wants to say _good boy_. He wants to say _this turns me on so fucking much, tell me it's not just me._ He wants to command something else, anything else, just to see James obey and to feel that rush of sparkling heat go through him again.

Instead, he takes several deep breaths and a sip of his water, and then, very calmly, asks James how his tour is going. James looks taken aback, and then relieved, and they manage to pass the time until their meals are ready with something resembling casual conversation, despite the fact that Ed keeps forgetting to listen to what James is saying because he's too busy staring at his reddened lips. Not to mention the fact that James seems to keep forgetting what he's _saying_ , soothed a little by the small talk but clearly still not totally present, and what Ed wouldn't give to know what he's thinking about—

Their food arrives. James thanks the waitress, but Ed is preoccupied with the bizarre gut-punch of arousal he feels at the sight of the meal being set down in front of James. He almost wants to laugh at himself, because it's just food, but something about seeing the meal _he_ chose being given to James, and knowing James had no say in the matter—it really does a number on him.

"It looks good," says James softly, and Ed feels very much like that's for his benefit, like James is saying _thank you for choosing for me._ Like he's saying Ed knows what's best for him.

Ed stares at his own meal and realises that he's not actually hungry at all. He never would've imagined that this could overwhelm him to the point that he wouldn't even want to eat. And the food looks good, it's just that it doesn't look anywhere near as good as _James_ looks right now. He thought this bit would be fun; watching James eat the meal he'd chosen for him, playing with the tension between them, perhaps even prolonging it if James was playing along. But right now, just the idea of sitting here for the time it will take to eat his dinner—that seems like torture. 

Ed grits his teeth and tries to settle himself. Their wine is brought over, and he immediately drinks half a glass too fast, needing it to calm his nerves. He almost laughs when James follows his lead, doing the exact same thing, but they don't acknowledge it. They're silent for a while as they try their food, and actually Ed feels a little better once he starts eating; it's good to have something else to focus on, and after a few bites he feels like maybe he's going to be able to manage this after all.

"Is it good?" he asks James.

James finishes a mouthful and glances up from beneath his fringe, shy. "Yes thank you, Ed," he says in that soft little voice, and Ed wants to fucking jump his bones.

He's never felt like he's losing control like this before. It's dizzying. There've been moments where he's felt almost high off it, watching James follow a command, but he's always been able to rein it in. Maybe it's because they were always amongst friends before, or in front of cameras or microphones, and the knowledge of that pulled him back to reality. And of course, they're still in public right now, so it's not as if he can do absolutely anything he wants, but it still makes a marked difference, knowing that it's just the two of them sitting at this table. It makes it so apparent that this is just for _them._

He tries to quell the caveman-like urge to just grab James by the scruff of the neck and drag him off somewhere, and again they eat and drink in silence, but Ed feels antsy. He stretches his legs out a little under the table and lets one of them nudge up against James's, grinning at the way James goes tense at the contact, his grip tightening on his fork. He might think it was an accident, might be expecting Ed to move away again, but Ed doesn't. Instead he very deliberately strokes the side of his foot up against James's ankle, and James makes a sort of sputtering sound. He looks at Ed somewhat accusingly, and Ed just raises his eyebrows as if to say _yes?_ and then James bites his lip. He looks like he's almost smiling. 

"Have another glass of wine," says Ed. It's not a suggestion, and any hint of a smile on James's face disappears.

Of course, he's said things like this before, but there are usually modifiers—"How about another drink?" "Why don't you have another bite?" and so on. Once you dispense with those, Ed finds, it really ups the ante. It's amazing how much of a difference it makes when they're blatant commands. 

James's gaze flits around nervously, but he puts down his cutlery and reaches for the bottle. He has to sit up straighter, and it would give him an excuse to move his leg away from Ed's, but he doesn't.

"You trying to get me drunk?" he jokes. 

He's clearly trying to ease the tension, but Ed's having none of that. "Yeah," he says, smiling slyly, "trying to take advantage of you."

James flounders, almost spilling the wine, and Ed has to make a significant effort not to let his smirk turn into a giant grin—not that James would notice, concentrating so hard on the task at hand. Once he's managed to refill his glass and return the bottle to the table, and is looking like he's going to go back to his meal, Ed picks up his own glass and holds it out expectantly.

"Oh!" says James, even more frazzled now, grabbing the bottle again and going deliciously pink. "Sorry," he says, like he really _means_ it, and Ed is pretty sure that by the end of the night he'll be much more drunk on James's submission than he is on the wine.

James refills Ed's glass, and Ed quickly scoops up a bite of his own food, gathering a haphazard forkful of roasted aubergine and pearl barley. Once James is done, he holds it out across the table and says, "Here, try some."

James's hands, on their way back towards his cutlery, suddenly clench into fists. He looks at Ed like he's not sure he believes what he just heard, because Ed is proffering the fork, but he's not handing it to him, and the implication is clear. James looks around furtively. 

"Go on," says Ed lightly, not bothering to check for himself whether anyone is actually watching, "you'll like it."

Something about the certainty in his voice seems to do it; James leans in, delicately taking the food off Ed's fork with his mouth. The sight of it sends a flash of heat straight to Ed's groin and he couldn't for the life of him explain why. He's feeding James in public, and the desire to fuck him is stronger than it's ever been. Ed can't be bothered questioning it.

James chews slowly and then swallows, his gaze flitting around the room. Ed lowers the fork and watches intently as he slowly turns redder.

"It's nice, right?" he says, just so he gets to hear James say—

"Yes thank you, Ed."

 _Fuck._ Ed almost says it out loud, he's so overcome. He wanted so badly to seem like he was unshakeable throughout this entire thing, if James seemed to be into it. He feels like that should be part of his persona, while they're like this: he remains cool and collected, while James becomes a total mess. But he can't keep it up, how can he act like he's unaffected under these conditions? Not that he _wants_ James to think he's unaffected, exactly, but it's fun to pretend like he's the only one getting so worked up.

"Ed," says James then, bringing him out of his thoughts. He says something that Ed doesn't quite catch, so quiet that Ed has to lean in to hear him under the steady thrum of noise in the restaurant. He repeats himself reluctantly. "Can I go to the toilet?"

This question is a bit of a shock, and Ed doesn't know if he should be so aroused by it, but the fact that James is asking permission for something that's essentially a basic human need is insanely exciting. As in, it's insane for him to be so excited by it. It might mean that there's actually something wrong with him, but he can't think about that right now because James is looking a bit wild-eyed and Ed is having a moment of concern.

"Yeah, yes, of course," he says, not wanting to make James feel stupid for asking, because god, let him ask permission for anything and everything, it's fucking intoxicating—but also not wanting him to think Ed's on some kind of crazy power trip and isn't going to let him go for a piss. "You all right?" he asks, gentle. He lays a hand on James's forearm without thinking and could swear he feels sparks.

"Yeah," says James, but he flinches at Ed's touch and he's so pink, blush spreading right down to the collar of his shirt. In fact, he looks a little out of it. Maybe he just drank his wine too quickly. Maybe he needs a moment alone to get to grips with the situation. Maybe they _both_ need that; a moment apart just to gather themselves together. 

James hurries off awkwardly, and Ed has a few more bites of his food and tries to calm himself down, but it's surprisingly difficult. He's genuinely finding it hard to properly enjoy his meal, and clearly James has had the same struggle because his plate's still half full, and that's very unusual for both of them. He can't even judge if the food is good or not, it's just—there. A distraction, if anything. And it's hard to eat when it feels like his heart is in his throat.

He doesn't know how long James has been gone but it feels like maybe longer than it should've been. Maybe not long enough to be concerned, under normal circumstances, but these are not normal circumstances and Ed is suddenly terrified that he's totally misread the situation and James might be having a breakdown in the loo because Ed has pushed things too far. Without really giving it any more thought, he jumps up from the table and heads for the men's, bursting in to find a very startled-looking James standing in front of the sinks. 

"Are you okay?" Ed blurts out, feeling a bit silly now because James looks fine, or—not exactly _fine_ , but at least not any worse than he has all evening.

"Uh," says James, high-pitched. "Yeah."

Ed comes closer. He thinks they're the only two in here, but he's not sure. He's realises he's glancing at cubicle doors as he approaches, checking. All empty. "Like, how okay?" he asks, now all up in James's personal space. "On a scale of one to ten?"

"That doesn't really make sense as a question," says James, and he's breathing fast, his eyes dark with pupil.

"No," Ed agrees.

"Very," says James after a shy moment, not quite looking Ed in the eye.

Ed smiles, and moves closer without even thinking about it, utterly instinctive, grasping James by the hips. He manhandles him into a space between sinks, and James lets out a gasp but it's a pleased sound, Ed is sure. Ed leans in, and James parts his lips, and then somehow— _some-fucking-how_ —Ed manages to take a second and assess the situation, and that's when he decides he doesn't want to kiss James.

Well, of course he _does_ want to kiss James, he very much wants to grab James by the back of the head and just fucking smash their mouths together, but. He'd also quite like it if _James_ kissed _him_ , and he realises in this moment that that's definitely not going to happen unless he does something about it.

So he says, "Kiss me." It's a whisper, almost; their faces are so close together, James's breath tickling Ed's cheek.

"What?" James whispers back, giving a little jolt of surprise. Clearly he was expecting Ed to just ravish him, was _waiting_ for it. The submission in that is so arousing but Ed wants more. Ed wants to pull him even further out of his comfort zone, wants to see him squirm. 

Ed's body is absolutely screaming at him to just kiss him, kiss him, _kiss him_. He aches to have their lips touching, to have his tongue in James's mouth, to get his hands in James's hair and—up under his shirt, groping him—

He takes a shaky breath and gives James what he hopes is a calm smile. He can't resist lifting a hand and gently smoothing James's fringe with his fingers. James leans into the touch and his forehead feels feverish. He twists against the mirror, and if Ed couldn't feel the desire radiating off of him he'd almost think he was trying to get away. Maybe he actually likes the fact that he can't, the fact that he's surrounded on all sides. 

"Kiss me," Ed says again, simply.

James looks so much like a startled woodland creature and somehow Ed still wants to do dirty things to him. "I—oh," he says awkwardly.

"What, you don't want to?" Ed teases, and James manages to go even pinker. "C'mon, James, you've been so good at following orders all night, don't let me down now."

James's mouth falls open and he grabs for the rim of the sink to his right; Ed glances down and sees his knuckles standing out starkly with the force of his grip. Ed feels a wide grin spread across his own face and when he catches sight of himself in the mirror it looks a bit evil, but he can't seem to control it.

"Go on," he coaxes, leaning in just a little more to help close the gap, and finally James does it, slow and hesitant, letting his lips brush Ed's softly. He draws back again, but he's cornered, so he can't really draw back very far. They're so close that Ed can't look at both of James's eyes at the same time. James seems to be dealing with this problem by looking anywhere else.

"That wasn't a real kiss," Ed tells him, because it _wasn't_ , how could James possibly think that was enough? "C'mon, don't you want to kiss me?"

"Ed," says James in an undertone, looking sort of frantic.

"You don't?"

James makes a frustrated sound and then suddenly dives back in, kissing Ed with such force that their teeth clash for a second, which isn't _pleasant_ but it's thrilling because it shows just how much James means it. Ed slides a hand up James's back and into his hair, soothing him, and guides the kiss into something less hectic and more satisfying. James opens his mouth for Ed's tongue, and Ed gives it to him, honestly feeling a little faint as he does so. It takes him a while to even register the taste in James's mouth, and even when he does it just turns him on more, as he's reminded that James only tastes like that because of _him_. With his other hand he reaches round for the small of James's back to pull him closer, because James has been angling his hips away from Ed in a way that feels unnatural—and that's when Ed realises why. 

James immediately tries to jerk away, but Ed won't let him, clutching him tighter and holding him close. James's erection is undeniable, so stiff and hot where it's pressed against Ed's own groin, and Ed pulls away from the kiss, staring at James in giddy shock. The blatant evidence of his arousal is almost more than Ed can handle, casting a different light on James's anxious request to go to the toilet, the weird look in his eyes, the way he had hurried off. Ed had thought he might have been panicking in here, but it never occurred to him that _this_ could've been the reason. 

James knows he's felt it. His face is so red and he's dropped his gaze so as not to have to look Ed in the eye, but that means he's looking down between them, at the bulge in his own trousers, which only serves to embarrass him further. Ed moves back just enough to fit his hand between them, needing to touch. He's slow, gentle, as if James might try and bolt—but James does the exact opposite, bucking his hips forward as if automatically, so that the shape of his cock fills Ed's palm. It's so swollen, stretching at the front of his trousers, surely maddeningly uncomfortable. Ed wonders how long he's been like this, sitting there across the table desperately trying to fight off his arousal and hopelessly failing.

God. Of course he'd _suspected_. That's what this was all about. But there's suspecting, there's forming fun little theories in his own mind, and then there's this, and this is—something else. This is more than he could ever have dreamed of, and it's going to his head.

"Jesus," he hears himself mutter. "This really does it for you, huh?"

James winces, tipping his head back against the mirror and then turning it to the side shyly, his eyes shut tight.

"Yeah? It turns you on? Giving up control?" Ed persists, leaning in to nuzzle him a little, trying to relax him. He has this sudden notion that they ought to _talk_ about this, like sensible adults, but talking about it just seems to be flustering James even more, and that's flustering Ed in return. And of course he hardly needs to ask such a question when the answer is staring him in the face, but he wants to hear James say it.

"I don't know," James mutters, agitated, a slight edge to his voice. "I don't _know_ , all right? I just—when you—you're so—I don't know. Domineering." He's all flushed, his gaze skittish, but he manages to give Ed a sheepish smile.

"Domineering?!" 

James bites his lip and tries again. "Bossy?" 

Ed grins. "I mean, I'm happier with bossy but I'm still not sure it's accurate."

He's teasing, but honestly, he's not sure how to cope with the incoherent implication of James's words. The thought that it's something Ed brings out in him—Ed doesn't know what to do with that. But then, doesn't it go both ways? Ed isn't like this with everybody. Sure, he likes to be dominant in the bedroom sometimes because it's fun, but it's never been like this, it's never been something that's bled through to the rest of his life.

"So you like that? Bossiness?" he asks, leaning in again to nudge James's jaw with his nose. "Is that what attracts you to me?" This does make some sort of sense, when he recalls James's dating history.

"Who said I'm attracted to you," huffs James, and of course he's ridiculous enough to feel the need to try and deny it after a kiss like that.

Ed gives him what he hopes is an extremely withering look, but he's not super in control of what his face is doing, which is a problem he often has around James and it's especially bad tonight. To make his point, he strokes James through his trousers, just once, and James's body judders against him. "One part of you is definitely into me," Ed murmurs. "Honestly, you don't have to be all defensive about it, I'm clearly into you as well."

James looks shy. "Yeah?" he asks, as if there could be any other reason on earth for all of this to be taking place. As if it's a genuine surprise to him that Ed's been wanting to get into his pants for literally years now, even though Ed's never put a lot of effort into trying to be subtle about it.

He wants to say _god, James, you're so stupid,_ but he knows that no matter how fondly he means it, it's not an ideal response while James is this fragile and overwhelmed. So instead he just says, "Yeah," emphatic, and squeezes James lightly through his trousers, watching his eyelashes flutter.

"Is it because I can't help doing whatever you say?"

"No," says Ed patiently, a bit like he's talking to an overly-inquisitive child. "That's just a bonus. A pretty incredible bonus, but it's not, you know, all there is."

James still looks extremely tense, and almost suspicious. "Listen, this is just—I don't know," he mumbles. "I never knew you liked it as well. I never even—I just thought—I thought I was weird."

"Well then, we're both weird," says Ed matter-of-factly, "because I think it's hot as fuck."

"Why?" asks James, which catches Ed off guard.

"Why? I don't know, I haven't analysed it," he says testily, because he hasn't, but oh—of course _James_ has. James has probably spent nights lying awake wondering what's wrong with him, and maybe Ed should be sympathetic, but instead he's weirdly delighted. "Oh, you poor thing," he says, voice turning devious as he squeezes James a little harder through his cords and leans in to graze his teeth against James's ear. James promptly shivers, all over. "Have you been torturing yourself about it?"

" _No_ ," says James sulkily.

"Oh, I think you have. You've been obsessing over it, haven't you?" Ed murmurs. "Do you get off thinking about it?" He feels a thrill go through him at the thought, and gives James's earlobe a little bite. "Thinking about me telling you what to do? Telling you how to touch yourself?"

" _Ed_ ," says James warningly, so Ed pulls back. 

"What?"

"We're in _public_ ," says James, looking genuinely stricken. "Ed, we can't—" He cuts himself off, as if he can't even acknowledge any of the things Ed might want them to do, and says instead, "Someone might come in!"

Actually, this is a fair point that Ed probably ought to listen to, but instead he takes James by the arm and pulls him into a cubicle. James makes a few scattered, feeble noises of protest, but Ed simply locks the door behind them and then pushes James up against it.

"There you go," he says, "problem solved," and kisses James deeply.

James unravels against him and it's beautiful, but unfortunately it only lasts about five seconds and then he's extricating himself, hands steady on Ed's shoulders to keep him at a distance. Then he mumbles, accusatory, "You left our coats."

Ed's brain feels all fuzzy and this sentence sounds like an absurd non-sequitur. "What?"

"Our coats," repeats James, more clearly now. "You left them unattended. Someone could steal our wallets."

Ed hates to admit it, but this is also a completely reasonable concern for James to have. He can't seem to bring himself to care about it at all, though, and instead finds himself unbuttoning James's fly. It's as if his hand is just doing it of its own accord. James lets out a startled gasp.

"D'you really want me to stop?" asks Ed, fingers poised on the zipper. He's fairly certain James is just nervous, too uptight to let himself give in without making a fuss first. 

James twists against the door. "...No," he says eventually.

Ed tugs down the zip and he feels crazy, he feels like he's legitimately lost his mind, because this really—this isn't on, but he can't seem to stop himself; all that matters in the world right now is getting his hand on James's dick. He's rough in his desperation, spreading James's fly open and hastily yanking down the waistband of his underwear, barely giving himself a chance to admire the sight of James's cock before he's wrapping his hand around it. James makes a little noise that almost sounds affronted, but Ed is too busy marvelling at the silky hot skin against his palm, the steady throb, the solid weight in his hand. 

He sighs with something like relief, and strokes, looking down between their bodies to see the head of James's cock pushing out of his fist, shiny-slick with precome already, and James whimpers— _whimpers_ —and it's so hot it almost makes Ed angry. He can't deal with that noise, can't deal with the fact that he _made_ James make that noise, and for a moment he's almost hysterical, the hand round James's cock pumping fast while the other one fastens itself neatly over James's open mouth.

James makes a sound that's even _worse_ , muffled against Ed's sweaty palm, but rising up above it, Ed hears the frighteningly-loud sound of women's voices, chatting as they pass outside on the way to the ladies'. All too quickly he comes to his senses, and it's as unpleasant and jarring as an electric shock. Without the slightest bit of warning, he lets go of James and immediately sets about getting his cock back into his pants.

"Um," says James urgently. "Wh—what— _no_." 

Obviously Ed knew—somewhere in the back of his mind—that someone could walk in at any second, and that it would be incredibly awkward if they did, but it's like he's only just magically regained the ability to care. It shocks his mind into rationality and he realises that he doesn't even _want_ to do this here, not really; he'd rather get James back to his flat, spread him out naked on his bed and do much more than just give him a hurried handjob. He's thinking purely in practical terms, which is why he's knocked off kilter by the panicky, desperate edge to James's voice. He hadn't considered how absolutely devastatingly frustrated James must be by what he's just done, and there's something unexpectedly thrilling about it, about _denying_ James like this.

But—he really needs to not think about that right now, or he's going to lose even more of his mind than he already has. He manages to pull the zipper up over the sizeable bulge in James's pants, and then tackles the button. He takes a shaky breath and tries to regain his composure.

"Ed," says James, fierce and confused.

"James, we're in _public_ ," Ed admonishes, and James looks absolutely aghast.

" _No_ ," he says, slightly frantic. "Ed— _please_ —you can't just—"

Ed's brain instantly translates these words as _please keep touching me Ed, please make me come,_ and it's very distracting, but he manages to say, "And our coats, James!" trying his best to look scandalised and finding that he enjoys himself a little too much. "They're unattended!"

James stares at him in disbelief. He's gone pale, which is actually sort of impressive given how pink he was earlier. Ed had grown used to the vibrant colour of his skin and it's now sort of alarming to see it so white again. "I think you might be evil," says James finally, slumping back against the door.

"You love it."

"I do _not_ ," says James hotly. "I can't go back out there like this!"

"You came in here like this," Ed points out.

"It was _not_ this bad until you joined me," says James, but this only has the effect of making Ed feel rather smug. "Ed, I really—I can't go back out there like this."

"Well, I don't think you'd be able to go back out there with jizz on your shirt and a look in your eyes that says 'I just got wanked off in the toilets', either, so we're in a bit of a quandary, aren't we." 

James sputters indignantly.

"C'mon now," says Ed briskly, making his voice more stern. "Behave, or you won't get any dessert."

James gets this sort of faraway look for a second, but it seems to be more because of Ed's tone than his actual words, because once he registers them he gets all tetchy again. "Ed!" he says petulantly. "I don't _want_ dessert."

Now, Ed can't simply let _that_ go. "You don't want dessert?!" he exclaims, faking shock. "Well, that's not like you at _all_. Are you feeling all right?" James makes a distressed noise as Ed lifts the back of his hand to his forehead. "You know, I was gonna bring you back to mine after," he says sadly, petting him, "but if you're coming down with something maybe you ought to go home and have an early night."

James is ashen, and Ed is so very entertained.

"Ed, you know what I mean," James says desperately. "I don't want dessert, I want—" He cuts himself off abruptly and goes red again. It's fascinating to watch it happen, two bright spots forming fast, high on his cheekbones.

"Ye-es?" Ed prompts, amused.

James looks like he's mustering up the courage to say something and Ed hopes it's gonna be dirty. "I want _you_ ," is all he manages in the end, looking at his shoes. Ed has to kiss him for that, for making an attempt. James makes a sulky sound against his lips, and stamps one foot, like he knows he's been tricked, but Ed kisses him until that's all James can focus on and then he's placid and still, his body sagging weakly against the door.

Satisfied, Ed pulls away. "I don't know why you're assuming you get a choice in the matter," he says brusquely. "I've brought you to this nice restaurant, and I want to buy you dessert, so you're going to be a good boy and eat it for me, and _then_ I'm going to take you back to mine."

James is still sort of slumped against the door as if he can't quite hold himself up yet, and at Ed's words he genuinely shudders, from head to toe; a knee-jerk reaction. His eyes flutter closed and his eyebrows are all knitted together. He looks almost pained. He takes a deep, steadying breath and Ed watches his chest expand and contract. Then he says, quietly, "Yes, Ed," and Ed's heart swoops. 

It almost makes him want to forget all his sensible reasoning and just get James off here and now, but he manages to hold himself together by remembering the prospect of getting James into his bed. "Right," he says, unlocking the door and ushering James out. "Go back to the table and wait for me."

James looks reasonably miserable about this, but he does as he's told— _god_ —tugging his shirt down over his crotch as he goes, and Ed spends a difficult couple of minutes alone in the cubicle. He's been fighting off his own arousal all night because he knows that as soon as he gives in he'll completely lose himself in it, he'll be a _goner_ , but he hasn't realised how tense he is with it until he goes to piss and struggles for a good twenty seconds. He hears the main door squeak open and his stomach lurches when he thinks about just how close they were to being walked in on. He doesn't honestly know where inside himself he managed to find that self-control and _sense_ , but he's thankful he did.

He returns to their table to find James sitting up very straight with his arms crossed, chewing his lip and darting nervous glances around the room. At the sight of him, Ed very nearly falls apart again, and realises in an instant that there's no way in hell he's going to be able to sit through dessert. That was a senseless delusion. Who was he kidding? He needs to get James home _now_.

But James is eyeing him anxiously like he's waiting for more of Ed's teasing, his tender torture, and Ed is _hooked_. He can't resist winding him up a little bit more. "So what d'you think? Something chocolatey?" he says as he slips into his seat. "I've heard they do a really good mousse here."

He expects James to glower at him, maybe even grumble a bit, but he's obviously taken Ed's words seriously, because he's so clearly _so_ tightly wound but he's waiting, doing what Ed says, being _good_ , and Ed's heart is so goddamn full. He finds himself just sitting there for a moment, staring at James and thinking—thinking _I love you_ , and that was not anywhere in his plan at all, but there it is. It feels different to all the countless other times that he has looked at James and thought _I love you_ , except—maybe it doesn't feel all that different at all. Maybe it feels the same, and it's putting all those other times into perspective. That's a mildly alarming thought, and Ed's not sure he's got time for it right now, but it sticks, fast, at the back of his mind behind the haze of arousal.

He spots their waitress, and when she comes over he feels mildly embarrassed by how much food's left on their plates.

"Would you like to see the dessert menu?" she offers, and James gives his bottom lip a particularly vicious bite.

Ed gives her a winning smile and says, "No, thank you, just the bill, please," and—it's like James _deflates_.

And then it's mere moments before they're finally leaving—Ed insisting on paying for them both, and also on helping James back into his coat, just because he _can_ —and then they're out on the street, and the cold air is a shock on Ed's overheated skin, making everything feel dazzlingly _real_ all of a sudden. He glances at James beside him and feels a crazy, stupid urge to hold his hand, or grab him and kiss him right there on the pavement. He feels out of control.

Instead, they walk in tense silence all the way back to Ed's flat, which is not far—he deliberately chose a restaurant close by, just in case—but right now it feels like miles. The second they're through Ed's door and it's shut behind them, he slams James up against it, the action just exploding out of him as if he can't stop it. James makes that stupid-hot whimpering sound again and then his mouth comes undone, opens wider than it needs to, and Ed licks into it, deep and messy and decadent. They're hard against each other in seconds—it's possible James never fully went soft—and when Ed shifts James's legs apart with his knee, James instantly bucks up against him. 

Ed's halfway out of his coat, expecting them to at least undress before anything further happens, but apparently he's worked James into such a frenzy that he's raring to go, rubbing up against Ed's thigh like he can't even help it, desperate for friction. Ed holds still and lets him do it, awed by the fact that he's so far gone he's not even thinking, just clumsily thrusting against Ed's thigh in spasmodic little movements, rutting like an animal. It's wonderfully mindless, but of course it's only fleeting and then he catches himself and freezes. Abruptly he buries his head in Ed's shoulder, his face hot with shame, burning through the thin cotton of Ed's t-shirt, and Ed feels a flood of delirious passion and grips him by the hair, cradling him there.

"Go into my bedroom and take off your clothes," he says softly, into James's ear, and James makes a sort of helpless, overwhelmed sound, all shaken up. Then it's quiet, silent in Ed's flat apart from their breathing, heavy and fast.

"All of them?" James asks eventually in a small, shy voice, and Ed thinks about James's insecurities and about how fast they're moving, but he can't bear to slow it down all that much.

"Everything but your pants," he amends, and James gives a tiny nod, so Ed pulls him away from the door with a hand fisted in the front of his coat. It's so easy, James just _lets_ him, his body going lax and light as a feather. It makes Ed want to throw him around.

In Ed's bedroom James strips, his movements awkward and stilted now under Ed's gaze. Ed gives him the first few seconds in the dark to ease him into it before flicking on the bedside lamp, spreading a warm glow over the room. He slips off his own coat and shoes but stops there and simply watches. James's hands tremble as he unbuttons his shirt, and he stumbles a bit pulling off his trousers, but Ed doesn't laugh, just silently admires each new inch of skin as it's revealed: broad shoulders, sinewy arms, flat stomach, knobbly knees. The lighting makes him look bonier, casting shadows. It only serves to make him seem more vulnerable, and something tugs at Ed's heart and his groin simultaneously. When James stands up straighter Ed can see, again, just how hard he is. There's a dark spot on the maroon cotton of his boxer briefs where he's got them wet, and it ignites a hot spark of desire in Ed, bright and potent.

He thinks about how he turns James on so much he gets hard in public. "Fuck," he says aloud, staring.

"Don't," says James, voice tight, and he actually—bless him, he actually covers his crotch with his hands, as if he wasn't _humping Ed's leg_ mere moments ago.

"Don't what? Don't look?" Ed teases, slinking up to him. He runs a hand down James's bare chest, James quivering as it goes. "Don't touch?"

"Don't—talk," James grits out, eyes squeezed shut.

"But I was going to say how gorgeous you are," says Ed, hurt, pulling his hand away and trying to get James to look him in the eye.

"I know," says James, and then, horribly flustered, realising how that sounds—"I mean—"

And Ed just laughs, and says, "Hands behind your back."

James hesitates, but he does it, slow like he's dragging his hands through syrup, fighting against some invisible force. He keeps his eyes shut and once his hands are firmly clasped behind him he takes a deep, unsteady breath and tips his head back, like he's trying to relax into the discomfort somehow, surrender to it.

"Good boy," says Ed lightly, and then circles round behind him and pounces, grabbing him tightly, one arm around his narrow middle and the other across his throat.

James jolts against him and lets out a surprised gasp, and Ed presses a little harder, to feel his Adam's apple bob against the crook of his elbow. It's not quite a headlock, but it's not all that far from it either. He lets his other fingers dance across the jut of a hip, playful, and nudges forward so that James can feel his erection. 

"What are you gonna do to me?" James asks, all timid and breathless, and Ed smiles against his shoulder.

"What do you want me to do to you?"

"I—I don't know," James murmurs after a long pause.

"You don't know? Really? You've got no idea?" Ed lets his other hand drift lower, ghosting it over James's cock just to hear his sharp inhale, feel him shiver.

"Whatever you want," says James suddenly, the words just spilling out as if he can't stop them, and that really makes Ed grin.

"Oh _really?_ " he says, nuzzling just behind James's ear, feeling the tickle of his hair against his lips. "You like that, hm? Feeling like it's not up to you? Like you don't have a choice?"

James makes an exasperated sound. "I don't know," he spits out. "I don't want to talk about it, I just want to—" his voice wavers with embarrassment, " _do_ it."

"Talking about it's fun, though. Makes you blush," Ed observes. "Don't know how your dick's still so hard when all the blood seems to be in your face, honestly."

He grabs for James's cock as if to punctuate his words, stroking it through his underwear. He's rough about it, but James is so _wet_ that it eases the way, fabric all sticky-damp under his hand, sliding and dragging across the shaft. James staggers against him like he's gone weak in the knees.

"I like how wet you get," Ed says, conversational, finding the head of James's cock through the cotton and circling it with a fingertip.

" _God_ ," James bursts out, sounding upset, as if Ed has said something cruel rather than complimentary. "Can you just— _not_ —"

Ed instantly removes his hand from James's dick. "Oh, you want me to stop?" 

He's mostly teasing, but he's also taking the chance to check in; James seems to be on the verge of getting _too_ overwhelmed by what's happening, and he's not quite sure what that would mean. He's got to be careful, especially with James being so fucking _awkward_ when it comes to expressing himself. He has to just use his own judgement in working out what James likes and what he doesn't, and he thinks he's generally pretty good at that, but he's also terrified of fucking this up, which is making everything more difficult.

But then James gasps out a desperate, "No—please—" and wriggles his hips pathetically, and Ed feels a wash of relief.

"Well, you'd better stop taking that tone with me, then," he scolds.

James apologises immediately, instinctive. "Sorry," he mumbles, and Ed can _feel_ how much it excites him to be spoken to like that, his whole body buzzing with it. "Just—I'm really—"

"Horny," Ed supplies, smirking. "My dirty talk gets you so hot you can't control yourself. It's all right, I understand."

" _Not_ what I was going to say," James bites back, but there's a hint of a smile in his voice and he loosens up a little, leaning back and letting Ed support more of his weight. 

"True, though, isn't it," says Ed, sly.

"Ugh," says James, swaying slightly in his arms, unsteady. "Maybe. Ed, just—please touch me again."

Ed feels oddly proud of him for managing to say it, to ask for what he wants, but it's not enough. It's too _vague_. Just to be contrary, he reaches down between them to squeeze James's arse—that's what he gets if he doesn't specify—and James sort of yelps, but then he shuffles back into the touch, letting Ed grope at him. It's so _small_ , barely there, really, and a sudden, heady urge strikes Ed.

"Wanna get my fingers in you," he murmurs. He doesn't even think before he says it; he just _wants_. Wants to open James up, get him squirming down onto his hand. 

James goes tense in his arms, muscles locking up. "...Oh," he says after a moment, his voice thin and wavering, "oh, I don't—"

"You've never—?"

"Of course I've never," snaps James.

"Well I don't see why it merits an 'of course'," says Ed mildly, because it's not unthinkable, though in truth he's not remotely surprised. "Would you let me?"

James hesitates, and Ed loosens his grip.

"You're allowed to say no," he assures him, but James makes a sort of pained, conflicted noise, and Ed realises how guilty this reminder might make him feel. If James wants it—even if he's just vaguely wondering what it might feel like—then of _course_ he's beating himself up about it, because that's what James does. 

But then James mutters, "Yes," quick and quiet and startling him. "Yes, all right, I'll—let you, but I—I mean—" his voice goes sulky, "I'm not going to like it."

"I don't see how you could possibly know that," says Ed rationally. 

He doesn't attempt any further argument, though, because he assumes James is just saying it for the sake of his conscience. If his curiosity is too strong to let him outright refuse, he can at least try to convince himself he won't have a good time, and maybe assuage his guilt by pretending that he's only doing this for Ed. And if he _is_ only doing it for Ed—well, that's not what Ed _wants_ , of course, but there is something about the idea of James prioritising Ed's pleasure that makes his mouth go dry.

He lets James go. "On the bed, then," he says.

James exhales shakily and goes, lying down on his back, settling his head against the pillows and shutting his eyes. It seems to take great effort for him to lie flat. Ed digs out his lube from the drawer in his bedside table, and he sees the condoms in there too and feels a frantic flutter go through him as he studiously ignores them. He clambers on at the foot of the bed, casually grasping James by his bony ankles and moving his legs to one side. James is watching him, but his eyes are heavy-lidded and wary.

"Let's get these off," Ed suggests, shifting closer and tucking his fingers into the waistband of James's pants.

"Oh, god," says James, but he lets Ed drag them down, and Ed is glad to see his cock more clearly now than before, so that he can appreciate it fully. It's thick and slightly curved, and so erect it looks almost painful. With sympathy, he strokes it, his grip light and loose, just enough to ease the ache. Gently, he lifts up each of James's legs one by one in order to spread them, and James makes an almost angry noise and throws an arm over his face.

"You all right?" Ed asks, still teasing his cock. James has been so worked up all night; he wonders if he could come right away, and whether or not that would be a bad thing. Would it help to take the edge off? Would he be all relaxed and pliant for Ed's fingers, maybe even—Ed's heart skips a beat—able to take more? Could Ed make him come a second time? With a sinking feeling, Ed acknowledges the likelier outcome, that of James immediately getting even more awkward about the whole thing without the intense arousal to drive him. He reluctantly lets go.

"Are you gonna take your clothes off?" James asks, which is not a response that Ed was expecting. In fact, he was too focused on James's state of dress (or undress) to pay attention to his own.

"Not a priority," he says with a shrug, and then, just to make James blush, "Why, you wanna see me naked?"

James rolls his eyes, but looks sufficiently embarrassed, and actually—actually, now that Ed's thinking about it, he rather likes the fact that he's fully dressed and James is utterly naked. He can see now why that would be making James feel even more vulnerable, but that just sparks some sort of sadistic joy somewhere deep inside of him. James has absolutely nothing to hide behind; Ed can see all of him.

Ed _is_ getting a little uncomfortable, though. He opens his fly, and at the sound of the zipper James moves his arm enough that he can see, looking down at Ed hopefully. His curiosity comes across so _sweet_ , so oddly innocent. Ed reveals the bulge in his boxers and then sticks his hand past the waistband just to adjust—just to touch, briefly, give himself enough relief for him to be able to focus.

"You—oh, you're the worst," says James, watching the movement of Ed's hand beneath the fabric.

"You won't be saying that in a moment," says Ed, and stops what he's doing in order to reach for the lube.

James goes all quiet and tense again, watching intently as Ed uncaps the bottle. Ed smears the slippery liquid clumsily over one finger, ending up with an awful lot of it on the rest of his hand because he's distracted by his rapt audience. James is fixated. He shifts against the mattress like he's just making himself comfortable but in the process his legs fall apart just a tiny bit more, like the subtlest of invitations.

"God," says Ed, mostly to himself, and settles closer into the space. This doesn't entirely feel like real life. Insofar as he'd let himself think about it at all, this isn't what he would've imagined they'd end up doing tonight. Given his preoccupation with James's mouth, he might've expected something quite different—but he hastily swerves away from that line of thought with only a minor pang of longing.

He goes slow. He forces himself to go slow. When he strokes two slick fingers beneath James's balls, James covers his face with both hands, and Ed has a moment of horrible doubt. 

"Tell me you want it," he blurts out, which isn't—well, it's not the most nuanced way of asking for consent, but it's all Ed can manage in his current state.

"Ed," says James brokenly. "Just—"

This should perhaps be enough, but it's not.

"Just what?" Ed hears himself saying, and it's _unnecessary_ , he knows it is, he doesn't need to torture James like this but—

But then James says, "Do it," in the weakest little voice, and then it's like everything makes sense. Like all is right with the world.

Ed takes a breath. He strokes over the taut skin dusted with dark-blond hair, and then lower, feeling a quiver of tight muscle against his fingertip. He rubs gently, letting James get used to the feeling of being touched here, waiting for him to relax a little because he can't push in like this, not with James so clenched up. But the more he caresses him, the more James yields, until finally Ed can begin to work his finger inside, agonisingly slow and gentle. He's so incredibly tight and hot that Ed might legitimately go insane if he thinks about it, so he focuses every last bit of his attention on making this feel good for James, pressing in to the knuckle and letting him adjust.

Slowly, slowly, James's hands slip from his face, one at a time, and go to the duvet instead. He doesn't quite grasp at it but his fingers dig into the fabric, like he's steadying himself, and he sucks in a deep breath that seems to take substantial effort. Ed watches his chest rise and fall. He watches him turn his flushed face against the cool pillows. He curls his finger gently, and finally starts to move it, slick and shallow. 

And that's when James mutters "Oh no," in a tiny, urgent little voice, making Ed freeze.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, feeling a sort of chill come over him. "You don't like it?"

For a moment nothing happens, and then James shakes his head, but Ed isn't sure which way to interpret that as an answer to the question, so he's a bit lost. James's cock is still hard, but that doesn't necessarily mean—and maybe this is too much, too fast—and James isn't clarifying anything, just lying there with his head turned away and his eyes shut tight. So Ed decides to err on the side of caution, and slowly starts to withdraw his finger. To his surprise James suddenly catches him by the wrist, holding him still before he has a chance to pull out completely.

"...James?" Ed prompts. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

James grips Ed's wrist more forcefully, fingers pressing into his skin, and huffs out a frustrated sigh. "Please don't stop," he breathes, barely a whisper.

"Oh," says Ed, smile tugging at his lips, relief flooding through him. "You _do_ like it?"

James swallows, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut, and gives a quick, fervent nod.

Ed can't help but grin. "That's not a bad thing," he soothes, slowly easing his finger back in, James's hand going slack around his wrist, letting him go. Trusting him.

Emboldened, he begins to finger him properly, working in and out and watching intently as James gradually lets himself enjoy it. His cock strains while the rest of his body gradually softens, relaxes. Ed fits a second finger inside of him, trying not to pay too much attention to the hot pressure that surrounds it, and fucks him with them until James is blissed out and boneless, his cock leaking against his taut stomach. 

"Want me to touch your cock?" Ed asks, and it's a stupid question, but he asks it anyway just to make James squirm, which he does. He also nods, too far gone to be sarcastic, and that's gratifying.

Ed closes a hand around it and feels it jump in his fist, wetting his fingers. He squeezes lightly at the tip just to make another bead of precome appear so that he can play with it, smear it down the shaft. James draws up a fistful of duvet in each hand and squeezes, his thighs trembling. Ed crooks his fingers inside of him and strokes. 

Then he finds James's prostate, and James _flails_ , eyes flying open.

"Shh, hey," murmurs Ed, petting him randomly—a hip, a thigh, a forearm. "You're okay."

"Oh my god," says James shakily, and Ed does it once more, deliberate this time, and James seizes his wrist again, frantic. "Stop," he pleads, his eyes all wide, "if you keep doing that I'll come before you even—" 

He breaks off abruptly, looking utterly mortified, and Ed's stomach somersaults. He's speechless for a good couple of seconds, struggling to process the words, feeling almost giddy. James is screwing his eyes shut and his face is absolutely burning, which tells him all he needs to know.

"Before I even what?" Ed asks, because how can he not.

James covers his face again and shakes his head, sensing Ed's glee. "Don't," he says, low.

Ed is about to lose his mind. He wasn't even going to—he wasn't _necessarily_ going to—he thought maybe this was enough, for James if not for him. He hadn't actually thought it all through, because how is anyone supposed to think at all with James laid out in front of them like this, somehow managing to be simultaneously demure and wanton, but he really wasn't, he wasn't just _assuming_ he would fuck him.

And apparently that's exactly what James is assuming. What James _wants_. James is threatening to come already and he doesn't want to, because—because he wants to come with Ed's cock inside him. Ed feels like he might pass out. Just keel right over and lose consciousness.

He has no idea _how_ , but he manages to cling to his last scrap of sanity and gather himself together.

"What more are you expecting from me, hm?" he asks, when he's sure his voice is under control. It's maybe a cruel thing to say. James looks like he's in pain, so yeah, it's definitely cruel, but Ed can't seem to help it. "You think I'm gonna fuck you? Well, how presumptuous of you, James. You think you've earned it?"

Ed has to ease off with his hands if not with his words, because this just got a whole lot more interesting and he is _not_ having James shoot off all over himself until he's got inside of him. He thinks he might have been subconsciously keeping the idea at bay all night and now that he knows it's an actual possibility it's all he can think about.

"Ed, _please_ ," whines James, and he's probably begging Ed to stop taunting him but to Ed's ears it sounds like something else, and it makes him immediately return to the bedside table for the condoms. James flinches at the flurry of movement, but when he realises what Ed's doing his eyes go all huge.

Ed settles back between James's legs, turning a condom packet over in his hands. He realises how hot he feels, sweating in his clothes, and now seems like a good time to remove them so he does, pretty much tearing them off in a frenzy and flinging them onto the floor. James watches him, looking a bit like he can't quite believe any of this is happening. Ed can empathise. He notices the way James's gaze flickers covertly downwards to size up Ed's cock, like he's wondering whether he can take it, what it'll feel like inside of him.

Ed takes himself in hand and strokes, just to put on a bit of a show, and James bites his lip, looking caught out. "It's all right," Ed assures him, feeling slightly dazed. "I'm gonna give it to you. You really want it, don't you?"

James's only response is a mumble. It certainly sounds affirmative, but it's nowhere near enough.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you?"

James manages to nod, squirming slightly against the mattress and rumpling up Ed's sheets. Ed lets go of himself and picks up the condom, and he swears James breathes a sigh of relief. As if Ed would be satisfied with a _nod_.

"Hm?" Ed prompts, cupping a hand to his ear. "I didn't catch that."

" _Yes_ ," James snaps, rolling his eyes and fixing Ed with a glare.

The brattiness just makes Ed want to push him more. "Yes what? What are you saying yes to?"

James glowers at him even more hotly and huffs out a sigh. "Are you serious?"

"How am I supposed to know what you want if you won't say it?" Ed asks, faking innocence, idly playing with the condom packet.

James squirms again, involuntarily, and he's so red, a splotchy flush reaching down to his chest. He's still glaring, though. "Ed, this is stupid," he says, sullen and humiliated. "You know exactly what I want, just—" He sighs, impatiently, looking away, "just do it. Just get on with it, all right? Before I change my mind."

Ed grins at that, can't help it. "As if you're gonna change your mind, James," he scoffs. He gestures at the general state that James is in, stripped naked and writhing on Ed's bed. He leans in over him, lowering his voice. "You're a little slut and you want my cock inside you so bad you'll do anything I say."

James goes tense, and his glare is replaced by a sort of hazy look in his eyes. He shakes his head but it's feeble. He struggles for a moment to even come up with a retort, Ed's filthy words clearly getting to him. "You—you wish," is all he can manage, eventually, and it's weak.

"Well, that attitude's not gonna get you anywhere, I can tell you that much," says Ed lightly, sitting back on his heels and placing the condom beside him, like he's not going to need it anytime soon.

 _That_ certainly has an effect on James; he makes a frustrated whiny sound and actually kicks his feet, stamping them against the mattress several times in quick succession. Ed can't help laughing at him, the little outburst so immature and unexpected and yet so _James_ —but he pulls himself together quickly, fixing James with a severe look. He knows how to deal with him when he's like this, he realises with a little shiver running down his spine.

"Listen, James, this is how it's gonna go: you're going to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you, and you're going to be nice and polite about it and say _please_ ," he says sternly, "or else you're not going to get anything at all."

He could swear he sees James's pupils dilate. James stares at him with his eyes all dark and his mouth slack, and then, as if overwhelmed by the eye contact, he tips his head right back in order to stare at the wall behind him instead, his sharp chin pointing up at the ceiling. Ed realises how laboured his breathing is, his chest heaving as he tries to slow the pace of each inhale and exhale. He's psyching himself up, and Ed waits, reaching out to stroke his thigh encouragingly. He's not actually sure what he'll do if James just flat-out refuses to say it, because right now he needs to be inside him so bad he feels a little woozy.

Eventually—finally—after an absolute _age_ , James swallows, hard, and Ed watches his Adam's apple bob in his throat, because at this angle that's all he can really see. James isn't going to be able to look him in the eye for this, but that's okay; just hearing the words will be more than enough.

James takes one long, deep breath, and then whispers, "F-fuck me. _Please_ , Ed, I want you to."

It's so sweet Ed could cry. He immediately wants to shower James with praise and kiss him all over, but with Herculean effort he manages to restrain himself, settles for giving James's thigh a squeeze and then reaching for the condom packet and tearing it open. James lets out a shaky breath when he hears it, and _god_ , Ed just—he can't resist—

" _Pretty_ please?" he suggests, and James huffs out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head, finally meeting Ed's gaze again just to give him a look of utter contempt.

Ed smiles innocently and slides the condom on, uncapping the lube again and slicking himself up. He gets some on his fingers and reaches between James's legs to smear it across his hole, feeling the way it flutters against his fingertips. Then he pulls back, and he's just steeling himself, really, he just needs to give himself a moment, but then James makes a harsh noise of frustration, his breathing going all crazy again, so Ed instantly sits up and takes notice.

"Pretty please," says James, in the tiniest voice, "fuck me."

Ed's brain threatens to shut down completely. "Oh, James," he says, his heart overflowing, "good _boy._ "

"Ugh," says James, squirming again, but his cheeks and eyes are bright and he's clearly enjoying himself despite his fussing. 

It makes Ed wonder how much he could push this, whether he could make James really _beg_ for it, but even the thought of that makes him feel like he might come before he gets inside him so he reluctantly nixes it, trying to get himself under control.

"Good boys get what they want, don't they," he says mindlessly, hooking his hands under James's knees and hitching his legs up.

"Yeah," says James, distracted; he's letting Ed position him how he wants him but he looks alert and anxious, his gaze skittering about. 

"It's okay," Ed assures him, steadying a hand on his hip, drawing in close. "I'm gonna give you what you want, and it's gonna feel good, I promise. I wanna make you feel good."

"Uh huh," says James, his voice high, and he's peering down between them, but the moment Ed's dick touches him his body jolts and he clamps his eyes shut.

"Relax," Ed reminds him, "you have to relax, or—"

"I know," says James thickly. "I know, I just—"

"Yeah. It's okay," Ed soothes again, petting him absentmindedly. The backs of his thighs are so pale and out of nowhere Ed feels a powerful urge to squeeze, to leave lovely little bruises. He wants—he wants to _ruin_ him and it's making him vaguely hysterical. He tries to calm himself. He has to be careful, he has to be gentle, but _god_ , if he doesn't want to just plunge right in and fill him up. 

"Just—" says James, fevered, and Ed shushes him and pushes in. James chokes on whatever he was about to say and his hands grab out randomly, one landing on Ed's hip and grasping tight. He goes dead silent, and Ed slides in all the way, slow, shuddering at the tight heat as it surrounds him inch by inch.

"Fuck," says Ed when he's as deep as he can get, when James is full of him and breathing fast, adjusting to the feeling. "You okay?"

James makes a sound that's bordering on a sob, and Ed very nearly comes apart at the seams. "James, tell me you're okay," he begs after another extended moment, aching to thrust, a tremor in his muscles from the effort of keeping still.

"Oh my god," says James weakly, which isn't really an answer, but then he adds, his voice cracking, "Ed, can you—move? Please move."

Ed lets out a desperately relieved groan as he eases back, the slow drag sparking pleasure through his nerves. He sinks back in, faster than he means to, and James's hand drops from his hip and grapples with the duvet instead. His eyebrows are all drawn up like maybe it hurts a little, but he also looks like he's so turned on he doesn't know what to do with himself. Ed lets himself think, with a distant sort of guilty possessiveness, about how he's making James feel something he's never felt before. No one's ever done this to James but _him_. He starts to fuck him, and it feels, at this point, that it's all he's capable of; just drawing back and driving in, fitting his cock in deep every time.

Apparently James's technique is very much just sort of lying there and taking it, but Ed absolutely isn't complaining, because his passivity is _beautiful_. He's just letting Ed do what he wants, and clearly loving every second of it, and it's so hot Ed is barely holding it together. He thinks about flipping James over, taking him from behind—he thinks, crazily, about pulling his hair—but he can't bear not to see his face. He wonders how much James would blush if he got him to go on top, to ride him—but it's just a fantasy, there's no way James could handle that, overwhelmed enough as it is. All he can do is lie there, arms flung out by his sides, legs carelessly splayed, just letting his body be rocked by Ed's thrusts.

"Fuck, James, you're so good," Ed hears himself murmur, bucking his hips in one particularly deep thrust just to watch James's eyelids flutter, see his mouth fall open in a perfect little O. "So good at getting fucked." James twitches at this and Ed drags his eyes away from James's face to look down at where they're joined; to relish the sight of his cock buried inside James, stretching him wide. It's unreal. "Look," he says, stroking James's hip.

James's eyelids flutter again, like he's about to obey Ed automatically and then catches himself. "I—I can't," he mumbles, pitiful.

"Looks so nice, though," Ed coaxes, pulling out just to watch James's body let him back in.

James shudders, gripping a fistful of duvet. "Ed—" he says, and it's not quite a warning, not quite anything, really, so Ed pays no mind. 

"Your little arse taking my cock," he says softly, sweetly, and James's whole body spasms, surging upwards off the bed reflexively. He clenches tight around Ed's cock, causing Ed to sort of moan-laugh and clutch at him, hands sliding up to his slender waist and holding him still. "God, James."

"St-stop talking," James stammers out, but there's no weight behind the words.

"I'll talk as much as I like," says Ed blithely, applying a little more force in pinning James to the bed, then slowing his thrusts to a pace that's almost torturous, until each time he eases out he's aching to be back inside, shoving back into that tight heat, letting it envelop him. "You're not the one making the rules here."

James gasps. "No," he agrees faintly, and then, anguished, "Ed."

"What?" 

James rolls his head back. "Harder," he says to the ceiling, and then, " _please._ "

Of course, that's exactly the reaction Ed was aiming for, but it still makes him lightheaded. "Oh, my god," he gets out, feeling dizzy with triumph. "You fucking— _greedy_ little—who would've thought—?"

He straightens up a bit and lifts one of James's legs experimentally, finding him pleasingly pliable. He hooks it over his shoulder, bearing down, and James makes a small noise and mauls Ed's duvet some more. Ed spreads a hand out across James's chest and steadily increases the pace, until he's pounding into him hard enough that the bedframe is starting to rattle and James is making these unbearable little helpless breathy noises, his hair working itself into tangles against Ed's pillowcases.

"Tell me you like it," Ed suggests, and he doesn't know why he has this obsession with making James _say_ things, why he can't just be satisfied with everything else about his reactions. James's voice is not the sexiest thing about him, and if you'd asked Ed before tonight what he'd think of James trying to talk dirty, he probably would've laughed. And he would've been an idiot, because apparently, turns out: it's the hottest thing in the world.

"I like it," moans James, words coming a little easier now. 

"You like my cock inside you."

James shakes his head furiously, but—

"Go on," Ed urges, and—

"I," says James in a whisper, "I like your—fuck."

Ed giggles breathlessly. "You like my fuck?"

He loves how hard James is trying, even though it's so clearly such a struggle. It means he must be getting something out of it too, beyond the satisfaction of giving Ed what he wants. Ed doesn't know what it's like, because saying shit like this is easy for him—he'd say a lot worse if he didn't think James might actually expire from embarrassment—but he can imagine it might bring a thrill to try and push past his own hang-ups, force the dirty words out.

" _Ed_ ," James hisses, his cheeks all pink. The hair around his forehead is damp with sweat, and it's making it curlier. He looks angelic, yet also thoroughly debauched.

"Say it for me," Ed implores, trying to keep his tone of voice closer to demanding than pleading, though at this point it's a struggle. "I wanna hear you say it."

"I like your cock inside me," says James finally, voice all tight and small. "It—it feels _good_ , Ed, is that what you want?"

There's a defensive edge to it at the end, but Ed doesn't care; he doubles over in his desperation to kiss James right away. He brackets James's legs around his waist and James makes a delightful noise at the change of angle, which Ed promptly stifles. His lips smear across James's cheekbone and James wraps his arms around him, clinging and lovely, _holding_ him, and the affection of it hits Ed hard and it feels like his heart might burst.

Suddenly, wildly, without thinking at _all_ , he says "I love you."

It just comes out, unbidden, and he hears it and can't quite believe he said it out loud. It sounds ridiculous. It sounds insane. It's not like he hasn't said it before, but god— _context_ is a thing.

James reacts like he's said something filthy, attempting to curl in on himself, but Ed's body is blanketing him so he can't move much at all; he wriggles instead, and Ed feels his cock rubbing up against his stomach, sliding slick against him, hard enough to bruise.

"I wanna see you come," says Ed, and he's not just trying to gloss over what he said before, he means it; wants to see the look on James's face, the total loss of control.

And maybe it's just coincidence, maybe James was already getting there, but it's as if he just immediately gives Ed what he wants—he arches up and cries out, and there's a sudden hot splash between their bodies. He's not even touching himself, his hands are still clutching at Ed's back, so the only friction comes from Ed's weight on him as he thrusts, and the steady slide and pressure of Ed's cock inside him. It's so unexpected that Ed doesn't get a chance to pull back and watch, but he's not sure that he cares when James is trembling beneath him like that and holding him tight.

"Oh my god," says Ed, and buries his face in the sweaty nook of James's shoulder, snapping his hips back and forth fast, knowing it won't take long for him to follow suit. James makes a noise into Ed's hair at the overstimulation; his cock trapped between them as Ed fucks him hard, but it's only a couple more rough thrusts before he's coming, moaning against James's throat and finally surrendering to his own pleasure.

Everything is hot and sticky after, their bodies so incredibly, unbelievably close that it's almost suffocating. And yet Ed doesn't want to move, somehow, until James grumbles his discomfort in his ear and then Ed manages to force himself to sit up and carefully pull out, tying off the condom with clumsy hands and then chucking it somewhere in the vicinity of the bin. When he turns back James has sprawled out like a starfish and looks somewhat shell-shocked. 

"Hey," Ed says, "are you okay?"

James stares at him for a long moment. His torso is smeared with come and his hair resembles a bird's nest, and he's panting and sweating and blotchy all over. Ed's not sure he's ever looked better. Finally, he manages a nod, and says faintly, "Uh huh. That was nice."

Ed snorts fondly. "Bit of an understatement."

"Yeah, sorry," says James hastily, flustered. "I mean, it was—well, you know. You were there."

Ed smiles at him. He feels like he could sit here smiling at him for a really long time. "I would push you for details but I think I might've done enough of that for one night."

"Yes," says James, and then, quickly, averting his eyes, "I liked it, though. The, uh—pushing."

"I gathered," says Ed, but he's glad for the confirmation. He knows it must not be easy for James to admit, and he hopes he's doing it for the sake of future reference.

With a sigh, he throws himself down beside him. Probably they should shower, but he feels deliciously sleepy and it's very tempting to just give into it. James sits up a bit and for a second Ed worries, but he's only reaching for a tissue from the bedside table to wipe himself off with, endearingly scrunching up his nose as he does so. Ed expects him to flop back down when he's done, but he doesn't.

"D'you want me to leave?" he asks instead, in a dismal voice.

"Do I _what_ ," says Ed.

"I mean," says James uncertainly. "Just to—you know, avoid the awkward morning after bit."

Ed doesn't even know what to say for a minute. James leaving is the absolute last thing on the earth he wants right now, so he says so.

"But—" says James. "You mean you want me to stay the night?"

"Obviously," says Ed, tugging at his arm to make him lie down, which he does, tentatively curling to face him. "Honestly, why wouldn't I want you to stay the night, you're so ridiculous."

James looks relieved, but still rather confused. "It's just—" he says haltingly, "I know this is just, like, a sex thing, so...I thought..." He trails off, and Ed gapes at him for a moment.

"James," he says finally. "You're so fucking daft."

"What?"

"D'you really think this is just a sex thing? Do you really think I don't have feelings for you? I don't know how I could make it more clear, honestly. I've been flinging feelings all over the shop."

James looks absolutely stunned, which is stupid. He's _so stupid_ , and Ed loves him _so much._ This realisation has come barging into his brain tonight with absolutely no regard for his well-being, and he feels like it ought to be making him more uneasy, but all he can do is welcome it with open arms. It's just so patently obvious that he wouldn't even know where to begin trying to argue with it, and besides, he has no desire to do so. He accepts it wholeheartedly instead.

"I thought they were—you know, friend feelings," James stammers. "Just friend feelings on top of the sex feelings."

"I mean, I said I love you while I was inside you," Ed points out, and James colours. "That's a bit more than friendly, isn't it? If anything _I'm_ the one in the dark about how _you're_ feeling. For all I know you've just been going along with all of this because you're sex-starved."

James laughs. "Ed! It's obviously not that."

"Well, it's not obvious to me! You haven't _once_ said how much you adore me."

He's winding him up again without even really meaning to; maybe deep down he does want some assurance that James feels the same. 

"I thought it was implied," says James. He's looking down bashfully, and Ed gazes at his long eyelashes, fanned out. James is right, he realises. His actions tonight have said enough. It's a strangely simple moment of understanding, that he maybe would have had earlier if his brain hadn't been so clouded over with lust. None of this would ever have happened if James wasn't head over heels.

Just like Ed is, apparently.

"And you don't think I've implied anything?" Ed teases. "Honestly, I don't know what more you want. Mixtapes? Chocolates?"

There's about to be more to this list, but James interrupts him. "I've made you mixes before," he says quietly. "And you buy me chocolate all the time." He sounds just as startled to state these facts as Ed is to hear them.

"Oh," says Ed. "I suppose that's true." He reels for a moment, then composes himself. "Here, roll over and I'll spoon you."

James laughs and it's genuine and delightful. He turns, movements still a little awkward as he settles himself against Ed's body, not as close as Ed wants. Ed wraps an arm around him and snuggles closer, then fumbles blindly for a blanket that he's got stuffed beside the bed and arranges it haphazardly over them. It's too hot for it, but he does it anyway, with the vague idea that James might feel too exposed otherwise.

"We'll go on a date, shall we?" he suggests, and then, without thinking—"I'll take you out for a nice meal."

"You've already done that like a hundred times. You literally just did that tonight." 

"Yes." Ed has to agree. "Well, it'll be extra special," he says eventually, leaning in to murmur in James's ear.

James shifts in his arms. "Oh yeah?" he asks, coy. "How?"

"I'll take you to some super fancy restaurant that we've always wanted to go to but we've never been able to justify," says Ed, his voice low, "and you can get dressed up all nice for me." James lets out a breathy little laugh. "And I'll order your food for you again and you'll be able to manage dessert this time because you won't be, you know, quite so much of a mess—or maybe you will be, maybe I just have that effect on you—but anyway I'm sure it'll be some monstrous thing that you probably shouldn't eat because I'm going to take you home afterwards and do things to you that'll make you cry."

James shivers and is silent for a long time, long enough that Ed starts to wonder if he's going to respond at all, and then eventually, in a small, shaky voice he says, "That started out romantic and then—then it went places." Ed has to laugh, a little, against his neck. Of course James wants _romance_ , the utter sap. "Also it does sound very similar to what happened tonight, so zero points for creativity."

"Sounds good, though, doesn't it?"

James wriggles slightly against him and then Ed feels him relax, just a touch, like he's getting used to the feeling of Ed wrapped around him. "Yeah," he breathes. "Sounds like a good first date."

Ed smiles against James's throat, feeling his pulse. "A good hundred-and-first date?" 

It's comforting, actually, to think that perhaps not that much is going to change between them.

"Yeah," says James, and Ed can hear a smile in his voice, along with a suppressed yawn. He seems to be taking this all in stride, or at least he's not rushing off in a panic to re-evaluate everything he thought he knew, which is what Ed might have expected if he'd had a chance to expect anything at all. Perhaps in James's current state he simply doesn't have the energy or perhaps, like Ed, he's realised there's surprisingly little re-evaluating to do.

"Did I tire you out?" asks Ed, grinning, and James nods. "Poor thing. Let's go to sleep then, shall we?"

James lets out a little sigh, and it sounds content. Satisfied. "Yes, Ed," he says softly.

"Good boy," murmurs Ed, and holds him close.


End file.
